


There Is No Snow in Valinor

by lemurious



Series: Arda Forged [9]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Badass Elf Women, Family, Friendship, Gen, Post-War of Wrath, Sculpture, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious/pseuds/lemurious
Summary: Three ladies in Valinor, the grudges they bear and the schemes they are beginning to weave...
Series: Arda Forged [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839175
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	There Is No Snow in Valinor

Slowly, so slowly that it could hardly be noticed, Idril retreated inside herself. When the pavements burst into light just a little earlier every evening to mark the way through Tirion, Idril became just a little gloomier, a little angrier, more prone to spending most of the night staring out of the window.

Tuor was at a loss. That was not at all like his wife. “Love, what is the matter? Is there anything I could do?” he asked her as gently as he could.

“No!” Idril snapped back, after a few moments forcing herself to speak in a more apologetic tone. “I feel like I am going to claw myself out of my own skin if I have to deal with another day like this. There is no time to spend outside until the night comes, and then it is all awash in _lights_ and _glitter_ and festive invitations and no proper _darkness, no proper_ _snow._ It never snows in Valinor.”

“You miss snow?” asked Tuor incredulously. “But –“

He was not sure whether it was better to point at Idril’s feet or not, since she could hardly have forgotten losing them to the Grinding Ice, followed by the long months of hobbling on crutches through mountain passes until an unlooked-for package came from Curufin, and with it, the first pair of her prosthetics. How could she possibly miss winter? Tuor was sure _he_ would not even be able to think about it if it had happened to him.

“Yes, _but. But_ it froze my feet straight off.” Idril retorted. “What you don’t realize – what _nobody_ in Valinor seem to realize – is how _intense_ it was. How raw we felt, how everything that happened before and everything that came after was bland, colorless in comparison. How much we all – even those who lost limbs, like me, even those who lost _people_ , like me, have been missing it for years afterwards, and now we can’t even tell anyone about it.

“I know you only think of terror, and grief, and hunger. Yes, they followed us at every step, but so did the sheer _joy_ of seeing the Northern lights erupt in purples and greens across the entire sky over our tiny band of Elves, so insignificant, but freed by our own fragility. And the taste of whatever meat Aredhel would bring from her hunt, how _alive_ we all felt to be eating it, our fingers dripping with fat, how close we all huddled in the firelight when we stopped for the night, singing perhaps of spring and beauty sometimes, but also of defiance and glory that awaited us. We have scorned the Valar and the Eldar and left behind the Blessed Realm to build our _own_ realms, at whatever price we may have to pay, _together_. And we never forgot.

“And now I am supposed to run a household and praise the Valar at winter feasts, ignoring that they pushed my home under the Sea just because it was an easier, cleaner solution?

“It is not your fault. You are – extraordinary, no other word would suffice, and I love you with all my heart, but there is nobody around who could even _imagine_ what it means to grow up like me. Everyone is either dead, by now, or banished to wander along the shores, or locked themselves inside the forest deep in the Southeast without as much as an acknowledgment of the war.”

“I am sorry, love,” Tuor replied quietly. “I truly am, and I wish I could do something to help you. Would you like to talk, perhaps, to our daughter-in-law? After all, she must have had _some_ courage to fly here with a Silmaril on her neck? And she bears no love for the Valar either, for taking our son from her and forcing him into an endless march across the skies.”

“Elwing? I always thought her entirely too young and prone to exalted pronouncements. But I suppose it could hardly be worse.”

\----

Elwing was not easy to find – at last, Idril discovered that her daughter-in-law had no friends in Tirion and was known for spending every free moment with Nerdanel, who had moved to Fëanor’s old house in Formenos and built there a truly impressive system of forges. Half of the local Eldar had lamps designed by her to shine a clear and even light without fire, and the rest shunned these new inventions, but still asked her to install the fences and to repair the blades they had owned since the War of Wrath and had not wielded since.

When Idril walked inside, Elwing jumped away from an intricate contraption she seemed to be designing and fell into a quick, bitter curtsey.

“Welcome, mother - ,” she said.

“I have no stomach for courtesies,” retorted Idril. "I know I am intruding, but I was looking for a place to hide from the festivities, so I thought, perhaps…” Idril suddenly felt that she had no business pretending to belong there, so she might as well go back to her husband, clench her teeth and bear another day. The summer will have to return sometime, and then she could finally escape to the woods.

“Do not feel like you are intruding,” Nerdanel’s low voice cut through the steady roar of fire in the forge. “You are welcome here, not just as family, but as one who too can find little peace in Tirion these days.”

Idril felt all her anger and frustration drain from her in such a rush that she could barely hold herself upright. Elwing pushed a chair over to her, and she folded into it, a small whine escaping her before she could pull herself together again: “I just miss snow. And proper darkness. And stars.”

“No, there is no snow here,” thoughtfully said Nerdanel. “I have always wondered what it would feel like to walk through a snowstorm, but, I suppose, it is too late for me.”

“Only ice,” Elwing followed with surprising vehemence. “An entire mountain of it, crystal clear, just like how Manwë imagines his conscience. After he agrees to condemn people to their deaths for a rash pronouncement made in anger and grief, or imprisons them in a solitary cell, spinning around in circles for all eternity, for the crime of actually daring to _ask for help_ to save Elves from a certain defeat.”

Nerdanel put a hand on Elwing’s forearm. “We shall see what we can do about that,” she said soothingly. “The rest is for me to bear…”

Idril had fought her way through the ice and the siege and the laws of the Valar, and she would not hear anything about _bearing_. It sounded entirely too much like a surrender, as she immediately explained to Nerdanel and Elwing.

“Well, there is not much I can do –“ protested Nerdanel, though Idril could see that her proclamation had put a new fire in the eyes of the aunt she had never seen.

“Being outside would help you feel less constrained,” she continued. “I miss snow, so why don’t we take a trip to that icy mountain instead? At night, so that we could actually see it in starlight?”

“I will bring you light,” Elwing grimaced. “Seems that’s all I am good for.”

“Nonsense!” Idril exclaimed. “You are brave, and kind, and cunning, so don't you dare let the Valar reduce you to a single deed, no matter how heroic. Those idiots still call me Silverfoot, as if the most important thing I have ever _done_ is put on a pair of prosthetics. Fantastic fit, by the way, Nerdanel, you _are_ aware that they had been crafted by your son?”

“I can spot the family style,” Nerdanel’s whole face crinkled into a smile, the first true smile of the evening, and the warmth of it made Idril lose her train of thought. _No wonder Fëanor could not get enough of her_ , she thought. _This cousin of mine is fire made flesh, even after being brow-beaten by the Valar for an Age. Let’s see if she can remember it herself._

“Well, how about we take a trip to Taniquetil, then? On the solstice – the longest night, to have enough time for a walk untroubled by anyone? And then, perhaps, we could even stop by Mandos…” Idril faltered at the shadow of pain that passed through Nerdanel’s face, her smile snuffed out like a candle.

“It brings nothing but pain to think of Mandos,” Nerdanel whispered. “My whole family, imprisoned, forever…”

“I refuse to believe there is no way to get them out,” Idril was not going to give in. After all, once she was told that there was no way out of Gondolin through the mountains. So she made one herself.

“Perhaps I should borrow some of your courage,” Nerdanel smiled again, but only with her eyes. “Long before your father was even born, I used to help my own father in Aulë’s forges, and there was one Maia who insisted that _there always was a way_. No matter how well hidden, no matter how well locked, all secrets and all treasures would be discovered at last. I did not believe him, and then he went and built himself a kingdom of hubris and spite, and the marvels of engineering that nobody in Valinor could even imagine – nobody still can.”

Idril only grinned in return. To her own great surprise and joy, now she actually felt like she _belonged_ with these women – more than she had belonged anywhere, since Aredhel had died _._

“I have another idea,” Elwing cut into the silence that followed. “Nerdanel, I know you have not created any sculptures since your last son was – _returned_ – I am sorry, I _am_ , but I think you may consider it again. How hard is it to sculpt ice?”

Nerdanel stared at Elwing uncomprehendingly for a heartbeat and then burst into laughter. There was no mirth in it, just sheer vengeance that made Idril shudder in the chair.

Thankfully Nerdanel kept laughing only for a few moments, after which she became brisk and businesslike again: “Not hard at all, especially if I have help with the more laborious parts. We only need to design a few more tools, here. Idril, why don’t you put on an apron and a pair of gloves?”

\---

On the first day after the solstice, Manwë, as had been his tradition since the Sun and the Moon had been launched on their journeys, invited his Valar to gather in his halls on top of Taniquetil to greet the return of light. Except that this time the Valar were unaccountably late, until Manwë lost his patience and went down to see what was holding them on their way.

He found them standing just outside his gates. The Valar were frozen, speechless, staring at the side of the mountain washed in red and gold by the dawn. The walls of Taniquetil, built out of the purest, smoothest ice with not as much as a blemish acquired since the Valar had sung it into being, now bore figures the size of towers.

The sons and daughters of Fëanor, and their father, grim and determined, were looking _down_ at the Valar.

The sons and daughters of Fingolfin and Finarfin below them.

And above them all, carved right under Manwë’s balcony, as if holding it by his outstretched arms, Eärendil, cut in facets so bright they rivaled his own starlight.

The sculptures could have been made in an expression of worship, except for their eyes, which kept following the Valar as they finally started their way up into Manwë’s halls. Angry. Cold. And full of blame.

Manwë looked at the figures and felt a clear premonition that this was only the beginning of his troubles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always very much appreciated :)
> 
> Elwing and Nerdanel are working on a contraption that will become more apparent in [No Glory for the Living](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539178/chapters/62346172). 
> 
> This is not the last the Valar will see of them. (Yes, there will be a sequel, eventually.)


End file.
